Chapter 6 - The Fall of Rowan Logistics
The dominoes fell with terrifying speed over the next seventy-two hours.
While Victor was being escorted out of the Hail Development building by security guards, Celeste Rowan was sitting in her father’s corner office on the docks of South Philadelphia, watching her family’s business empire crumble around her ears.
Richard Rowan, a burly, red-faced man in his sixties who had spent forty years building his trucking firm, was pacing back and forth across his Persian rug, screaming into a telephone.
“What do you mean the bank froze our operating line!” Richard roared. “We have payroll on Friday! I don't care about the DOT audit, clear the funds!”
He slammed the receiver down, glaring at Celeste, who sat shivering in a leather armchair, clutching a designer handbag.
“You stupid girl,” Richard growled, his voice shaking with fury. “I told you to stay away from Victor Hail! I told you he was a hollow suit living on his wife’s family money!”
“He loved me, Dad!” Celeste cried out defensively. “He was going to leave her anyway! He was going to put me on the board of his company!”
“He doesn't have a company anymore!” Richard shouted, tossing a newspaper onto her lap.
The front page of the business section showed a photo of Victor being led out of his corporate headquarters, with a bold headline: HAIL DEVELOPMENT CEO OUSTED AMID EMBEZZLEMENT & DOMESTIC ABUSE SCANDAL; MARA ELLISON TAKES INTERIM CONTROL.
Before Celeste could read the article, the office door clicked open.
Silas Ellison walked in, accompanied by two men in dark suits wearing brass badges clipped to their belts.
Richard Rowan stood up straight, his hands instinctively dropping into his pockets. “Who the hell are you? You can’t just walk into my private office!”
“Richard Rowan,” one of the badge-wearing men said, pulling a federal warrant from his jacket. “I’m Agent Miller with the Department of Transportation Criminal Investigative Division. We have a search warrant for your shipping logs, fuel records, and offshore transaction receipts from the past thirty-six months.”
Richard turned pale. “On what grounds?”
Silas leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “On the grounds that three hours ago, your daughter’s former flame, Victor Hail, turned over digital records showing that Rowan Logistics was helping him launder stolen corporate funds through fake fuel surcharges.”
Celeste gasped, jumping to her feet. “Victor wouldn't do that! He promised he’d protect me!”
Silas looked at her with pure, cold pity. “Victor gave up your father’s entire operation thirty minutes into his police interview to save his own skin, Miss Rowan. Did you really think a man who would hit his wife of seven years would show loyalty to a mistress he’s known for eight months?”
Celeste collapsed back into her chair, bursting into frantic, hysterical tears.
Richard Rowan fell into his desk chair, staring at Silas with hollow, defeated eyes. “What do you want, Ellison?”
Silas straightened up, walking over to the desk and placing a clean white envelope on the blotter.
“This is a buyout offer from Marcus Ellison’s logistics firm,” Silas said smoothly. “He’s offering ten cents on the dollar for your fleet and your warehouse contracts. You sign it, and my brothers won't press federal conspiracy charges against your daughter. You refuse... and you can both share a public defender by next week.”
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Richard looked at the papers, then at his weeping daughter, and finally at the federal agents who were already unplugging his hard drives.
With a trembling hand, Richard pulled a pen from his pocket and signed his name on the line.
